“But why, my lord,” again urged his lady, “should you deem thus injuriously of a man of whom you know so little?  What you do know of Tressilian is through me, and it is I who assure you that in no circumstances will be betray your secret.  If I did him wrong in your behalf, my lord, I am now the more concerned you should do him justice.  You are offended at my speaking of him, what would you say had I actually myself seen him?”

“If you had,” replied the Earl, “you would do well to keep that interview as secret as that which is spoken in a confessional.  I seek no one’s ruin; but he who thrusts himself on my secret privacy were better look well to his future walk.  The bear [The Leicester cognizance was the ancient device adopted by his father, when Earl of Warwick, the bear and ragged staff.] brooks no one to cross his awful path.”

“Awful, indeed!” said the Countess, turning very pale.

“You are ill, my love,” said the Earl, supporting her in his arms.  “Stretch yourself on your couch again; it is but an early day for you to leave it.  Have you aught else, involving less than my fame, my fortune, and my life, to ask of me?”

“Nothing, my lord and love,” answered the Countess faintly; “something there was that I would have told you, but your anger has driven it from my recollection.”

“Reserve it till our next meeting, my love,” said the Earl fondly, and again embracing her; “and barring only those requests which I cannot and dare not grant, thy wish must be more than England and all its dependencies can fulfil, if it is not gratified to the letter.”

Thus saying, he at length took farewell.  At the bottom of the staircase he received from Varney an ample livery cloak and slouched hat, in which he wrapped himself so as to disguise his person and completely conceal his features.  Horses were ready in the courtyard for himself and Varney; for one or two of his train, intrusted with the secret so far as to know or guess that the Earl intrigued with a beautiful lady at that mansion, though her name and duality were unknown to them, had already been dismissed over-night.

Anthony Foster himself had in hand the rein of the Earl’s palfrey, a stout and able nag for the road; while his old serving-man held the bridle of the more showy and gallant steed which Richard Varney was to occupy in the character of master.

As the Earl approached, however, Varney advanced to hold his master’s bridle, and to prevent Foster from paying that duty to the Earl which he probably considered as belonging to his own office.  Foster scowled at an interference which seemed intended to prevent his paying his court to his patron, but gave place to Varney; and the Earl, mounting without further observation, and forgetting that his assumed character of a domestic threw him into the rear of his supposed master, rode pensively out of the quadrangle, not without waving his hand repeatedly in answer to the signals which were made by the Countess with her kerchief from the windows of her apartment.